Heart of the Holidays: The Christmas Whitman Candy Ritual

When I was a child, I remember Daddy would get a large can of mixed nuts and a large box of Whitman candy right after Thanksgiving. The nuts were opened within a few days, but the box of Whitman candy was reserved for a day close to Christmas. Daddy would announce when it was time to open the box of candy, then he would select who had the honor of opening the box and picking out the first piece of candy. My younger brother, Larry, and I would vie for the first piece of candy each year. If I didn't get the first choice, I was praying that my favorite piece would not be selected, but as we all know the top layer is full of the most wonderful choices of chocolate candy pieces. The Christmas of 1970, I was away studying nursing in Akron, Ohio's Pediatric Hospital, with a short break to come home for Christmas. I was so excited that Christmas Eve: getting to go home and take my first airplane trip, seeing the Christmas decoration lights over Baltimore as we landed, and then the final flight heading home. I was picked up at the airport by my fiance (now my husband for 43 years) and we went to my home to celebrate Christmas Eve. Dad met me at the door and put his arms around my waist and swung me around the room, he was so happy to have his "baby" girl home at least for a few days. Christmas Day, mid-morning, Daddy went to the dining room table and picked up the yellow Whitman box of candy and announced it was time to open the box. He gave me the box to open and to select the first piece. I was so excited to have the honor of opening the box and getting the first piece. I tore the cellophane paper at one of the sides of the box and quickly removed it from the box. Full of excitement, I grabbed the edge of the box lid and lifted it to reveal the writing on the inside cover listing the names of each piece of delicious candy in the slots of the tray. I remember seeing that shinny, quilted paper that covered those sweet delights, and then I gently lifted the paper, in great expectation of the wonderful smell of chocolate and the delight of all those selections, to find an empty tray - not a single piece of chocolate in the entire top layer. Daddy's face showed surprise, then his forehead began to wrinkle in a frown; mother's jaw just dropped as her eyes began to get round as saucers; and my brother's head bowed downward with his eyes closed and he looked like he was about to cry. Daddy started fussing about how they could sell him a half empty box. He was going to take it back to the store right now and talk to them, and then he remembered it was Christmas Day and that would have to wait until tomorrow when the store would be open. My brother in a very small voice, said, "Daddy don't do that, it was my fault." It seems that each day for about two weeks, when he would get home from school before my parents got home from work, Larry, who was known for liking sweets, could not resist the temptation of that Whitman box of chocolates. So he gently opened one end of the cellophane paper and removed the box without tearing the paper, select a chocolate or two and then put the box back into the cellophane wrapping. Nether of my parents noticed the paper being loose. Just before I came home, he finished the last pieces of chocolate on the top half of the box and replaced the cellophane wrapping and taped it closed. We all laughed about the incident and forgave my brother, but every Christmas after that we would remind him of how he secretly ate the entire top portion of the candy selection, which we all know is the most choice pieces of the Whitman box collection. That ritual stopped with the passing of our dad, but I still remind my brother about him eating the entire top layer and causing such a fuss that Christmas Day.